Bebe!
by Lili and RayRay
Summary: Romano is worried about Spain's recent illness. But, as it turns out, Spain isn't sick, he's...pregnant? Spamano, mpreg, rated T for The Miracle of Life. And Romano's swearing.
1. Chapter 1

Romano swerved into the driveway and jumped out of his car like the vehicle had spontaneously ejected him. He stumbled across the rough asphalt, tripping once and skinning his knees, and finally staggered to the door. Finding it locked, he plunged his hands into his pockets. Coins, candies, tissue packets and other things tumbled out onto the floor as he began his frantic search for the key. It took him another minute after he found it to unlock the door; his hands were shaking too much. He flung open the door and raced upstairs, not even bothering to wipe his shoes on the welcome mat. "Spain!" he cried as he burst into his former boss' room.

The bed was empty. Romano stood there, panting, his head spinning with confusion and panic. Where was Spain? Why wasn't he home? He slumped against the doorframe as he caught his breath.

That was when he heard a faint noise from the bathroom.

Romano approached tentatively. The noise had stopped. "S-Spain?" he said, knocking cautiously. There was a brief pause, then a retching sound and a sick splash. Romano cringed. "I-I'm coming in!"

He was hit immediately by the thick stench of vomit. As he covered his nose and tried to avoid throwing up himself, he saw Spain kneeling over the toilet. The Spaniard looked up when he heard the door open. Romano was shocked by how tired he looked. His face had paled and lost its usual cheery vigor, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. He smiled wanly at Romano. "Hi Lovi," he rasped. He got shakily to his feet and tried to hug the Italian, but missed and fell against the wall instead. Romano caught him before he could hit his head.

"Wh-what's going on? I heard from the potato bastard's brother that you were still sick, but—!" He hadn't imagined Spain could still be this ill…

"It's nothing," Spain mumbled. "I just have the flu, that's all."

"For a month? Are you kidding me? You can't have the flu for a month!" Romano put his hand to Spain's forehead as the latter rinsed his mouth. No fever. "Fuck, I'm calling the doctor!"

Spain looked at him plaintively. "Don't," he whined. "I'll probably get over this in a few more days… It's not nice to call the poor doctor over for something so trivial… He has other people to take care of…"

"Yeah, 'other people' like you! A doctor is supposed to make people feel better, not neglect them, jerk!" Romano helped the Spain back to his bed, noting how unsteady the Spaniard was on his feet. "In fact, I'll call him right now."

Spain sighed. "Fine…"

* * *

Fifteen minutes later saw Enrique Lorca taking Spain's temperature and asking a series of questions while Romano paced around worriedly. Dr. Lorca was one of the doctors charged with the special mission of caring for the nation personifications. He was a wizened old man with frizzy white hair and a goatee that Romano always thought made him look like a devil. But he was one of the best, or so Romano had heard, and he very conveniently lived in the same city as Spain. As Romano, in his anxiety, began tracing circles on the rug with his finger, he listened in on Dr. Lorca's conversation with Spain:

"Have you eaten anything out of the ordinary recently?"

"No, just the usual."

"Any changes in appetite?"

"I've been eating a lot more lately, but I haven't been able to keep it down…"

"I see. Any other symptoms?"

"Ah. Well…"

Romano's head shot up when Spain threw the blanket aside and lifted his shirt. He quickly caught himself and turned the other way, blushing. "I've been putting on weight. And my stomach has gotten all hard, see?" Spain pressed a hand to his belly. The doctor scribbled away in his notebook.

"Tell me about your sex life."

Romano's jaw dropped. _What._

"Um…" Spain blushed. "W-well… I—I am… in a r-relationship with… th-that guy there…" He pointed at Romano, whose face had gotten as red as a tomato. "And w-we've been having sex… a lot." He paused. "Both ways." When Romano grimaced he added, "Oh, sorry Lovi, was I not supposed to—"

"Darn you!" Romano hid his face in his hands. He felt like crawling under the bed to die.

Dr. Lorca was the only one unfazed by the topic. "When was the last time you…?"

"About a month ago. Before I started getting really sick."

"And you were feeling ill before that as well?"

"Just a little. Mostly tiredness, and a bit of nausea at times. Oh and I kept wanting to eat the _weirdest_ things. Like wurst and pickles and red bean paste. Haha, I sound like a pregnant woman…" He stopped laughing when he noticed Dr. Lorca's piercing gaze and Romano's horrified stare. "What? You don't think—"

"Señor Carriedo, I'd like to conduct some tests…"

It was Spain's turn to stare in horror.

* * *

"How dare you," Romano muttered when Dr. Lorca had retreated to a separate room. "I have never felt more humiliated in my life."

"Sorry… But you know, it's important to tell doctors the truth so they can find out what's wrong with you…" Romano huffed, unconvinced. Spain smiled reassuringly. "At least he won't tell anyone else, right?"

"Hmph."

"Lovi, you're so cute when you're grumpy~~~~"

"I am not! Shut up!" He was about to hit Spain when Dr. Lorca returned. There was a strange look in his eye as he trotted up to the two nations.

"Congratulations, Señor Carriedo," he said, placing a hand on Spain's shoulder.

"You're pregnant."


	2. Chapter 2

**Ah, I feel like I'm under so much pressure to create a wonderful fic now. Well, no matter; I will do my best!**

* * *

Spain blinked. "I what?"

Romano blanched. "He what?"

Dr. Lorca nodded.

The room went silent.

"Really?" Spain gushed, beaming. "I've always wanted to be a _papá_! Or, in this case, a _mamá_, I guess… Hey, Lovi, isn't that great news?" Romano looked like he'd just been hit by a train.

"Señor…Vargas, was it?" Dr. Lorca inquired. "Are you all right?"

"Pinch me," Romano breathed dazedly.

"There, there, Lovi, it's okay," said Spain soothingly, taking the Italian's hand. "We'll be just fine! Children are wonderful! And besides, wouldn't you enjoy hearing the patter of little feet in the house?" There was no response. "Lovi?" A few guttural sounds escaped from Romano's throat as he tried to form coherent words. "Lovi, please don't make me abort it…"

"H—how?" Romano finally managed to choke out. He collapsed onto the chair. "How?" he repeated, looking at Dr. Lorca.

"Well," said the doctor, "I'm sure you already know that babies are the result of sexual intercourse." Spain blushed. Romano just continued staring. "Now, as for how a man like Señor Carriedo got pregnant… Countries have both male and female reproductive organs; it is simply a matter of which set dominates that determines gender. Yes, Señor Vargas, you have a uterus too," he added when Romano clutched his stomach with a squeak.

"I see," Spain muttered. "Hey, Lovi, isn't that cool? I'm a hermaphrodite!" But Romano wasn't listening. He stood up and staggered out of the room. A series of irregular thumps were heard as he stumbled down the stairs and out the door.

"Oh dear… I hope this didn't cause any trouble in your relationship," said Dr. Lorca.

Spain merely smiled and replied, "He'll be back."

* * *

Romano closed the front door quietly behind him and walked shakily back to his car. Dr. Lorca's words were still swimming around undigested in his head. Spain? Pregnant? How could it be? The doctor had to be lying. But what else could it be? He himself had said it couldn't be the flu. It might have been work stress, but the tomato bastard had stayed at home for the last month and he was still sick. Granted, a tumor might cause the nausea and fatigue, but didn't people usually _lose_ weight from that instead of gaining it? The only probable option seemed to be… _Dio!_ Romano's realization smashed into him like a brick wall, knocking the air from his lungs. He slumped dizzily against the car. No way. No. Way.

He let out a strangled cry and started banging his head on the window. What the fuck! What—the—fuck! How the hell had he gotten into this mess? It wasn't that he opposed the idea—he was quite okay with him and Antonio having a child—wait, none of you heard that! Forget everything!—but rather that his lover was a fucking MAN with a fucking [BEEP] and last time he checked Antonio didn't have fucking boobs or a fucking [other BEEP] or AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! He whirled around and started storming down the street, still in a daze. There was a strange squirmy feeling in the pit of his stomach, as though he'd swallowed a bunch of live snakes. The repeated head trauma was making him see stars—more than before, anyway—and he found himself veering onto the road. Luckily, the cars decided not to occupy that little stretch of tarmac at the exact same time, or the paramedics would've had to peel bits of squashed Italian from the tires. He leaned against a streetlight and waited for the world to stop spinning.

It didn't.

He flipped open his cell phone and started punching the number keys. Maybe talking to someone would make him feel better.

Halfway through the number, he realized he'd subconsciously been dialing Spain's house. "Shit!" he muttered, berating himself for not paying a little more attention to what his fingers were doing. Whenever Romano was in a pinch, he always phoned Spain for consolation—you lot didn't hear that either, okay? —but how could he do that when Spain _was_ the problem, damn it? He sighed. Who else was he going to call?

Veneziano? No, that dumb jerk would let slip to the whole world his predicament.

The potato basta—No. Never.

Belgium? Romano blushed. She would spend more time commenting on his promiscuity than helping him…

Japan? But the guy rarely strayed from his house, and when he did it was mostly to go to world conferences… or Greece's place. (Hmm.) He wouldn't likely be able to help.

Maybe one of Spain's friends…

France? Ugh. No. He hated talking to the wine freak.

Prussia… Um.

Mexico? No; that temperamental little whelp would only fly all the way here and kick Romano's balls to a bloody pulp if he found out what had happened to his adoptive father. And besides, long distance calls cost an arm and a leg. Or his manhood…

Romano groaned in frustration and continued on his way. They were all a bunch of idiots anyways, now that he thought about it.

He'd stumbled on for about twenty minutes when a black car pulled over and the window rolled down. Romano tensed, half expecting a pair of black-suited henchmen to leap out and drag him kicking and screaming into the vehicle, but relaxed when he saw the old man in the driver's seat. "You look troubled," said Dr. Lorca. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know," Romano mumbled.

"Come in," the doctor said kindly.

Romano hesitated. Decades of being caught up in crazy Mafia antics had taught him never to trust anyone telling him to get into a vehicle. Especially not when the vehicle was black and the back windows were tinted. But Dr. Lorca seemed so trustworthy, and refusing the offer would sully the doctor's probably already low opinion of him. Romano patted his breast pocket to make sure his penknife was still there and climbed in.

"How do you feel?" Dr. Lorca asked as he lifted his foot off the brake.

"Weird," Romano replied shakily. Dr. Lorca made a right turn. "Where are we going?"

"I am driving back to my office. I'll drop you off whenever you like. I just wanted to make sure you were all right; you seemed quite upset when you left."

"Oh." A moment of silence passed. Then Romano asked, "How is he?"

"Señor Carriedo? He is quite healthy. I would estimate he is about three months in. He's progressing well, though he should increase his fat intake to reduce the strain on his body. His morning sickness is a little severe. I prescribed him some medicine, but he told me he would do fine without it. He is quite remarkable, that Señor Carriedo." He turned to Romano with a serious expression. "However, remarkable as he is, he won't manage without you, Señor Vargas. Please support him through his pregnancy, and after it as well."

"I never said I wouldn't."

Romano looked out the window. They were driving past a playground. He watched the mothers fuss over their children, annoying little brats with shrill voices and grubby little hands they were sticking everywhere. His heart softened. It wouldn't be so bad, he supposed—he'd never seen businessmen or lawyers smile as much as parents did. He turned to Dr. Lorca. "Can you drop me off at the store?" he asked.

Dr. Lorca nodded. "Do you want me to send you back too?"

"I'll walk. Thanks, though." He didn't want to trouble the doctor any more.

It would also give him a chance to think while he returned to Antonio.

* * *

Spain hadn't even been aware of dozing off after the doctor left, but when he woke up again it was dark. He stretched his arms with a loud yawn and gasped as he elbow struck something on the bedside table. There was a strange crunch and when he pulled away his skin was covered in flaky crumbs. He sat up, brushed them off and turned on the light. Then he laughed. He'd crushed a plate of soda crackers.

He heard movement in the next room. A moment later, the door cracked open and Romano peered inside. When he saw Spain was awake, he entered the room and sat on the bed, next to him. When their eyes met he quickly looked away, frowning slightly. Finally he mumbled, "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, now that you're here," Spain purred, hugging the Italian. For once, Romano didn't resist. "How are _you_?"

Romano didn't reply.

"Listen, I think we need to talk about—"

"What do you want for dinner?"

"Eh?"

"I—I said—" Romano turned, and Spain couldn't help but smile upon seeing how flustered he was, "Wh-what do you want f-for dinner, damn it!" He blushed.

Spain grinned like he'd just won the lottery. "I want Lovi!" he announced, jumping up and pinning Romano to the bed. The younger nation froze as he leaned over and nibbled at his ear. "Just kidding~~" he whispered, smirking as Romano squirmed in his grip. He let go. Romano shot him a disgruntled look as he sat up and adjusted himself. "Lovi is for dessert! For the main course I want…" he thought of something Lovi was good at making, "pasta!" He smiled innocently. Romano snorted and left without another word.

A few minutes later, Spain joined him in the kitchen, munching on the crackers to get rid of the renewed sour taste in his mouth. "By the way, what are these for?" he said, sitting at the table to watch Romano at work.

"They'll help settle your stomach," Romano replied.

"How nice…" Spain poured himself a glass of water. "That's very thoughtful of you~~~"

"Mm."

Spain chuckled.

The crackers did work, to a certain extent—he found himself downing spaghetti like he hadn't eaten in days, and without that nasty queasy feeling that had plagued him at mealtimes for the past week. Romano glared at him when he finished his own share and began eating from the Italian's plate, but relented with a sigh. After dinner, Spain managed to talk him into cuddling on the couch while they watched the evening news. "You seem less grumpy today," he commented as Romano leaned his head against his shoulder. "Are you happy about the baby?"

"I'm worried," Romano mumbled. "About the responsibilities. And about you."

Spain gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "It'll be fine," he said. "We're in this together, aren't we? We'll help each other through thick and thin. Why else do you suppose there are two parents? It's so they can be there for each other when things get tough. And don't worry about me. I'll take good care of the _bebé_ while he's in my tummy." Romano looked at him. "Ahaha, and myself too, I promise. But you know, things are already much better with you by my side." He kissed Romano on the forehead. "Thank you."

Romano wrapped his arms around Spain's back. Just being with Antonio seemed to make his worries dissolve away. He could almost imagine the three of them, him, Antonio, and the baby, living happily in their house in the suburbs—ah, crap, he was getting sentimental again. But being sentimental was something you couldn't avoid when you were about to become a father. He snuggled against the Spaniard, feeling the warmth radiate from his lover's body, purging him of unhappiness. "No," he said. "Thank _you_."

Spain smiled. "_Te amo_, _mi tomate_." He laid him down on the couch. "Now, about that dessert…"

* * *

**Merci beaucoup d'avoir lu ce chapitre. Je suis heureuse que vous aimiez mon histoire :3**

**And watch as dozens of angry French people flame me for writing that wrong...  
**


	3. Chapter 3

Romano didn't want it to be morning. Morning meant waking up in bed, disoriented and tired, wondering why the light was shining right into his eyes even though his bed didn't face the window. Realizing that it wasn't _his_ bed, but Spain's, and the bugger was sleeping right beside him on the nice un-shone-upon side. Sitting up and feeling like a grenade just blew up in his ass. Hobbling to the bathroom, getting interrupted by a horrific banging on the door while he was taking a piss and hearing the tomato bastard's garbled voice as he tried not to puke all over the floor. Having to hold it in and wait until Spain was finished before resuming. (God, that was the worst part.) Having to let him in a second time, this time halfway through a shower, only to be looked at seductively and molested. Kicking him out and yelling at him to go use another bathroom. Hearing him sobbing right outside, and having to finish the shower quickly in order to apologize to him. Having him whip the towel off Romano's waist and proceed to rape him on the bathroom floor. Going through the rest of the day with a fucking repeat of Hiroshima ravaging his lower regions. Romano shuddered. He really dreaded the morning.

But morning came anyways.

To make matters worse, the stupid frog had somehow gotten wind of the situation (Romano highly suspected Spain was to blame) and invited himself over to congratulate the Spaniard and maybe cop a feel here and there. Which was how Romano found himself sitting beside Antonio instead of retreating to his room as usual, shooting the ugly blond man murderous looks every time he so much as shifted in his seat. Spain tried to point out that there was a coffee table barring France from them, to which Romano replied that the wine freak wasn't some pathetic fluffy fairy thing that couldn't enter homes without being invited inside, so what was stopping him from simply jumping over the damn table? And so Spain had resignedly allowed Romano to stay, though it killed the atmosphere and hung it out to rot in the afternoon sun. France, through, was just glad the suddenly over-protective Italian hadn't gone Switzerland on him with Spain's axe yet.

"It's been a long time since there've been any children around," the Frenchman commented, carefully pouring himself some tea under Romano's watchful glare. "I miss the days when Canada was but a _petit bébé_… Ah, they grow up so fast!" He dabbed at the corner of his eye. "I still remember when he was just born! If only he made as much noise today as he did then! Maybe then the other countries would stop forgetting about his existence."

"Wait—_you_ had Canada?" said Romano. "Not England?"

"Well, duh! I mean, just look at the structure of that country! English-speakers screwing the French all over the place. Wouldn't it make sense that I got knocked up by that stupid Brit?" His expression brightened. "But Canada was so cute as a baby, it made me stop hating Arthur for a while!"

The doorbell rang. Spain jumped up to answer. "Ah, that must be Gilbert!"

Romano froze. "You—told—_him_?" A tremor went through his spine. It was over. It was all over. That damn bastard would tell the whole world. He buried his face in his hands. _Dio_, the tortures that would be inflicted upon him…

"Kesesesesese!" Prussia cackled as he gave Romano a huge pat on the back that made the Italian double over in pain. "I guess you're more of a man than I thought! By the way, Italy told me to send you your clothes and other stuff. And he says _congratulazioni_ to you too!" He laughed. Romano's face turned red.

Prussia _and _Veneziano. Great. Now there couldn't possibly be anyone in the whole fucking world left who didn't know about the soon-to-be new arrival.

* * *

After France and Prussia had left, Spain decided they would go to a restaurant for dinner. "Yay, Lovi, you're so nice!" he squealed when Romano finally acceded to the Spaniard's sudden urge to have escargot. "Lovi? You're looking a little green."

Which, Romano thought as he tried not to gag, was the same color as the snails on the plate…

Suddenly he wasn't hungry anymore.

His stomach heaved as he watched Spain devour the shelled creatures like they were candies. Never again. If Antonio was going to insist on eating weird things, well, he would have to do that alone. Any more of this and Romano might end up puking more than the pregnant Spaniard. He stabbed his fork into a chunk of potato. Bah. Potatoes…

He decided he would eat at home instead. At least there the food didn't do weird slimy mollusk things under leaves. Or remind him of people he hated.

When they got back, however, Romano suspected he would have to reconsider. There was a dark-skinned teenager sitting on the front step, holding a suitcase in one hand. He looked up in anticipation as they approached, but upon realizing it wasn't Spain's car, he scowled and acted aloof. When Spain jumped out of the car to greet him, however, he reverted to happy-peppy mode and leaped upon him like a five-year-old. "_Papá!_ I missed you!" he cried, as Spain, with some difficulty, swung him around in a circle. "I heard you weren't feeling well, and the world conference is tomorrow, so I thought I'd come here a bit early and visit you! Are you okay?"

Romano swore under his breath. Of all the times to ambush them, why did Mexico have to choose now?

"I missed you too!" Spain ruffled the Hispanic's glossy black hair. "You're such a nice boy, to care about me so much! I'm feeling much better now, thanks."

_Don't say it_, Romano prayed silently. _Please don't tell him…_

"But hey, guess what?"

Romano slammed his forehead against the steering wheel. "_Dio, prendimi adesso…_"

* * *

**_Dio, prendimi adesso-_God, take me now**

* * *

**Mexico is annoying. I say this because I myself find him annoying. I dunno, if no one cares about him then I might throw him in the garbage bin after the world conference. **

**It pains me to say this, but I've just about hit a brick wall with this fic. I have no idea where things are heading from here. But, at the same time, I feel so bad that so many people find pregnant!Spain interesting and I can't write about it to save my life... so I am open to suggestions until I come up with a decent plot. *prays this doesn't end in a full-scale Why-Did-The-Author-Not-Include-My-Suggestion war...**

**Thanks for reading thus far. R&R :3  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Special thanks to otakugirl96 for the prompts :3**

* * *

"Juan, please be reasonable…"

Mexico crossed his arms with a snort. "The bastard deserves it," he grumbled. "_Papá,_ what do you even see in this guy? He's nothing but a loudmouthed brat who doesn't even appreciate the things you do for him!"

Spain sighed. "_Juanito_, don't say those kinds of things. Lovi does appreciate me, even if he doesn't show it. Besides," he looked at the boy sternly, "you went too far this time." He turned to Romano, who was bent over the bathroom sink, and said in a gentler tone, "How are you doing, Lovi? Is it coming out?"

Romano groaned as he adjusted the cold pack against his swollen cheek. Blood pooled in his mouth and dribbled down his chin. Mexico had knocked out one of his teeth and another was threatening to fall out. Slowly, he worked the dangling tooth to its original position. Pain shot through his lower jaw as he pushed it back into the socket, causing him to wince and Spain to pat his shoulder reassuringly. Damn it all…

It wasn't that Romano was very worried about his injuries—the swelling would go down in a few hours and his tooth would be secure by morning. He was a bit annoyed that he'd lost the other one somewhere in the front lawn, but a replacement would fill the gap in a few weeks. No, Romano wasn't upset about his dental trauma. Rather, he just felt pissed. Pissed that this obnoxious little twerp had shown up without an invitation, jumped all over Spain like some disgusting little lovestruck puppy, and even dared to punch him in the face—the nerve of that little _monello!_ He caught a glance of said twerp in the mirror as he filled a cup with tap water. Angry brown eyes glowered at him contemptuously. He ignored them and carefully poured water into his mouth, rinsing as gently as he could while keeping his tooth in place. He spat into the sink; behind him, red streaks smeared across the porcelain. Romano swore as the revolting metallic taste filled his mouth. When this was over he would make that scum wish he'd never been born.

Mecixo huffed. "It's not fair! Why do you side with _him_ all the time?"

"Juan…"

"Every time we talk to each other, it's always about him! Romano got you a Christmas present! Romano kissed you on Valentine's Day! Romano this! Romano that! I—I'm sick of it!"

"Juan—"

"You just don't get it! Don't you see how he ties you down? I-if it wasn't for him, you wouldn't even be in this horrendous state—"

The rest of his sentence ended in a small gasp—Spain had whirled around and fixed him with a hard glare. "Juan," he said, and Mexico flinched at the edge in his voice, "having a child is the best thing that could ever happen to me. I don't mind if you think otherwise, but kindly do not insult me or Lovi by referring to my being pregnant as a 'horrendous state.' It's my own decision to have the baby and I expect you to respect that."

Mexico's eyes dropped to the floor. He fell silent under the Spaniard's cold gaze. When he spoke again, his anger had dissolved, replaced by a sort of dead solemnity. "I'm always second-rate, aren't I?" he said softly, then spun on his heel and ran off.

"Juan!" Spain started after him, but remembered the injured Italian. He turned. "Lovi—!" Romano groaned and waved him away. _Whatever. Just go._ Spain gave his shoulder a grateful squeeze and hurried off. He heard the front door slam as he rounded the corner. "Juan, wait!" But Mexico had already gone. He threw on a jacket and sped outside, but already there was no sign of the boy. A sudden wave of nausea hit him, and he ducked and threw up behind the neighbor's hedges. As he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and leaned against Romano's car, already spent from his quick dash out of the house, he saw a dark-haired boy in a poncho slowly make his way down the street. "Ah! It's—!"

* * *

"Damn him," Peru muttered. "How dare he leave me in the lurch like that!" If he'd had his choice, he wouldn't even have come here early. But no, that stupid Mexico had to come running to him begging for a traveling companion. Ecuador and Chile had refused, Brazil didn't give a shit about that "crazy pedo man," and Colombia had taken one look at Mexico's pitiful groveling and burst out laughing. And so, Peru, being the good cousin he was, had to swoop in and 'rescue' that _boludo_ from certain depression. He wished Argentina had come too. Everything was better when Argentina was around.

But the moment they'd set foot in the Madrid-Barajas Airport, Mexico'd taken off like a frightened llama and left Peru to fend for himself in this environment of scary pale people who spoke in a weird dialect and looked at him like he was something nasty they'd stepped in. Bah. If Capac were here he'd spit in every one of their faces. Because Capac was awesome like that. He sighed. Stupid airline people, not letting a cute little llama on the plane…

He figured his idiot cousin had run off to Spain's house, and as soon as he'd checked into his hotel he'd rushed here to find him. Seriously, why was Mexico so troublesome? He was practically a grown-up already! People who didn't know them saw a round-faced twelve-year-old boy and a fifteen-year-old with messy black hair, but when they spoke to them, it was the twelve-year-old who replied politely and the fifteen-year-old who made weird faces at strangers and tried to hide behind taller people. The only person Mexico ever acted mature around was America, and that was because the two hated each other's guts. Peru swore. With that kind of a stupid _primo_, it was no wonder people looked at him strangely all the time.

As he approached the house he saw someone staggering towards him. Despite himself, he grinned. "Spain!" He might not be as clingy as a certain other idiot, but that didn't stop him from liking his former foster parent. His happiness, however, was quickly replaced with worry when he saw the Spaniard's unsteady gait. "Spain! Are you okay?"

Spain greeted him with a wan smile. "_Hola_, Huayna," he said. "I'm fine. Just a bit dizzy, that's all. Did you come here early too?"

Peru nodded. "Juan made me," he grumbled.

"I see…" Spain seemed to have a faraway look in his eyes. "Juan…"

"Did something happen?"

"Eh?" Sometimes Spain forgot about Peru's uncanny intuition. "W-well… There was me and him and Lovi in the house, and you know how those two get… and I said something that upset him and he ran out of the house." He buried his face in his hands. "Oh my gosh… Why did I even do that…? I don't know what came over me…"

"Let's go look for him."

"Yeah…" Spain looked at him. "Actually, I'll go look for him myself, if you don't mind, Huayna. I think he might understand better if he knew I went to find him of my own accord… Besides, I'm worried about Lovi. Juan punched him in the jaw and knocked out one of his teeth."

Peru sighed. Typical impulsive Mexico. "All right," he said, "but please be careful."

Spain flashed him a thumbs-up. "'Careful' is my middle name."

As they parted ways, Peru couldn't help but worry. "No it isn't," he mumbled, once Spain was out of earshot. "That's 'Fernandez.'"

* * *

Mexico dashed across the road, ignoring the honks and angry yells of drivers who'd had to swerve out of his way. How many of these streets had he crossed? He didn't remember. All he'd been concerned with was getting as far away as possible. He ducked into an alley and slumped against a Dumpster to catch his breath. Here, the noises of traffic were dulled by the surrounding buildings, and what little light reached in gathered in an orange pool by his feet. He stumbled further into the alley, panting softly. Tears filled his eyes as the memory of his dispute with Spain flooded his mind.

Why didn't _Papá_ understand? Romano was nothing but a big, fat, stupid, uncouth ingrate! He remembered the first time Spain had brought him to the Old World to meet that stupid Italian. Upon seeing him, Romano had shot him a hate-filled glare and tried to steal back all of Spain's attention. What the hell was his problem? Spain was _his_ _Papá_, for God's sakes! What right did the stupid Italian have to snatch him away? But when he pointed this out, Spain just smiled and patted his head. And Romano glared at him while clinging to the Spaniard.

He should've known right away that he would never be as coveted as that filthy bastard. Why would he? Romano was white, and European, and lived close to Spain. He was a lowly _indio_, an ocean apart from Spain, and nothing more than a hindrance in the eyes of his _Papá_'s society. He would never draw, or sing, or paint as well as Romano. He would never smell tomatoes and spices, only the pungent llamas and gritty cornbread of his land. He would never be first. Romano had him beat in every category he could possibly beat Mexico in.

Even now, when he was just voicing his concern for Spain, his _Papá_ had dumped him for Romano. Always Romano. Urgh! He pounded the wall in his fury, his body heaving with sobs. He was nothing after all. Just a naïve little kid Spain turned to whenever he got tired of Romano's tsundere tendencies. He'd been worthless from the start.

A sudden voice made his heart jump and his blood turn to ice. "My, my," said a snide, nasal male voice, and Mexico was yanked back roughly by his shirt collar, "what 'ave we here? A lost child?" A chorus of laughter. "Well boys, let's teach 'im to never stumble into our territ'ry again, eh?" Several men voiced their agreement. "You'll be goin' home in a matchbox by the time we're through wit' you, kid!"

As the first fist came in contact with his face, Mexico squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for the world to end.

* * *

Peru quietly slipped into Spain's house and padded noiselessly to the bathroom. Except for the clock ticking, the house was eerily silent, which only exacerbated his compulsion to remain quiet. He found the bathroom door ajar and the Italian still bent over the sink, moaning in pain. "S-Señor Romano?" he said softly.

Romano jumped and whirled around, looking around frantically. His eyes fell on Peru. For a second, his brow knotted in confusion, but then he relaxed and raised a palm in greeting. Unlike that loudmouth Mexico, Peru was a sophisticated, respectable boy, even if he did smell faintly of goats. "Wheresh Shpain?" he asked, wincing at the sound of his own lisping.

"He went to find Juan," Peru replied.

"Wh-what?" Romano sputtered. Flecks of spit and blood went flying. Peru grimaced and wiped his face. "Shorry." Romano covered a wad of gauze over his loose tooth and the bloody socket. "H-he can't go outthide like thith! What if…" He trailed off.

Peru raised an eyebrow. "Why? What happened to Spain?"

Romano stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. How would the boy react? He didn't want another gap in his teeth to complement the first one… Still, it couldn't be helped. "He'th pregnant," he said quickly, bracing himself for whatever came next.

Peru's eyes widened. Then he smiled warmly and said, "Congratulations."

Romano blushed.

"Damn, if I'd known I wouldn't've let him run off on his own…" A troubled look crossed his face. "I'm sorry, Señor Romano."

If it were anyone but Peru, Romano might've chewed them out for doing such a stupid thing. But there was mutual respect between him and that mysterious descendant of the Incan Empire, and on top of that Romano didn't really feel like showcasing his terrible speech by yelling at someone. So he forced a reassuring smile and said, "Ith fine."

Peru sighed worriedly. "I pray they will return safely…"

* * *

**Stupid Juan makes me grit my teeth in annoyance, because he is starting to grow on me like a parasite and I'm not throwing him in the garbage bin after all. Sometime in the near future he is scheduled to pull a Cleveland and move out to his own fic. And Peru too.  
**

**Peru: I lost three hours of valuable sleep just to take that stupid flight with him. Maybe it's his fault I never grow taller.**

**Me: Now, now, don't go Inca on him...**

**Peru: Why not?  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**This one is kind of long...**

* * *

"Damn it, where could he be?" Spain muttered as he cut across someone's lawn, ignoring the barking that came from the house. He'd checked all the usual places—the park, the library, the mall, that weird little café down the street where Romano always ended up after they had a fight—but there was no sign of Mexico anywhere. Frantic, he'd expanded his search to a one-mile radius around his house, to no avail. It didn't help either that he had to stop frequently to deal with his constant bouts of nausea. He'd almost thought of giving up, but every time he did, an image of that poor boy, his face tainted with sorrow, always surfaced in his mind. His hands balled into fists. He _couldn't_ give up. It was his fault Juan had run away and he would fix things with his son if it was the last thing he did.

He went through his options. Continuing to look for him the way he was doing now was pointless; there were simply too many places Juan could be. Calling the police might work, but the local chief wasn't fond of kids and would probably insist that Juan would return home in a couple of hours. (The useless pig.) Perhaps he could get Huayna to join him in his search. But the Peruvian was as unfamiliar with these streets as Juan was, and if he got lost, what then? Spain didn't want to find out. Maybe Romano…? But sending Lovi to look for Juan was like sending one angry cat after another, and they'd probably beat each other to a pulp before they even remembered to come home. And calling other nations to help was out of the question; most of them hadn't even arrived yet. He sighed. "Dear God," he said, leaning his head against a lamppost, "I'm sorry for upsetting Juan. I really miss him and wish he would come back. Please guide him to me safe and sound… please… my son…"

"Well, you might want to try searching over there."

Spain jumped. "G-God?" he gasped, looking up. "God, is that you?"

"Wow, I've never had someone revere me that much before," said the voice, and Spain felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned. A bespectacled old man stood beside him. "I don't know if this would help you or not, but I saw a strange teenager running across the road a few minutes ago. Looked like a Mexican. Does that sound like who you're looking for?"

Spain hugged him. "Oh, _gracias, gracias!_ Which way did he go?"

"Last I saw, he was heading downtown." The man scrutinized Spain. "Aren't you a little young to be his father?"

"Adopted," Spain replied hurriedly as he took off. "Thank you so much!" Hopefully Juan hadn't made it too far in those few minutes since the man saw him. Only trouble could ensue if the boy disappeared into those tightly-packed streets. It was too easy to get lost there. And if the boy should run afoul of any gangs roaming around…

He quickened his pace.

* * *

Mexico grunted as he was shoved brusquely against the ground. Above him, the gang boss was laughing as he lit himself another cigarette. Mexico bitterly recalled the first one, which had left a painful mark on the underside of his arm. Someone grabbed his hair and rudely pulled his head up. He was too disoriented to resist; his body hung limply as his attacker unleashed another round of beatings upon him. His body was covered in cuts and bruises. One of his arms flopped lifelessly by his side; the thugs had dislocated it a while ago. The hair on the back of his head was matted with blood. He raised his good arm protectively over his torso. The gang laughed. The boss strode up to him. Smoke billowed from his face as he exhaled. A movement of his hand revealed a long knife glinting menacingly even in the dim light. "Know why we have two eyes?" he sneered. "It's so we can still see when one of them's cut out." He raised the knife.

Mexico glared at him, his gaze unwavering.

The boss laughed. "You're resilient, boy. I like that."

"Go to hell," Mexico snarled, and with the last of his strength wrenched himself from the thugs' grip, wincing as his hair came out by the roots. He slammed into the boss, narrowly missing the knife. The blade sliced a long line over the left side of his forehead and another one across his upper arm as the boss retaliated. Mexico quickly picked himself up and ran, bowling into another gangster along the way. There was blood running into his left eye and the contact lens in the right one had slipped out of place, distorting his vision. He stumbled out of the alley and was immediately struck by the bright lights from the street. He faltered for a moment, momentarily blinded. Behind him, an angry rumble grew louder as the gang thundered after him. He chose a direction and took off.

A terrible shooting pain flared up in his leg as he ran, and he realized he'd probably twisted his ankle when he fell earlier. Blood pounded in his ears, blotting out the sounds of the street. He glanced frantically behind him. The gang had probably split up to search for him. He ducked into another alley to catch his breath and screamed as a pair of hands suddenly landed on his shoulders. They had found him!

He was spun around. A voice called his name; to Mexico it sounded distant and fuzzy. He felt hands on his face and quickly pulled away, but something hard struck him from behind. He'd backed against the wall. The hands ran over his face, the thumbs wiping dirt and blood from his eyes. He squinted at the blurry images before him. A face, its features warped and fuzzy from the tears gathering in Mexico's eyes, looked down at him. The person's hands smoothed his bangs back. Mexico blinked. "_Papá?_"

"Juan…" Spain caressed the boy's cheeks, looking at him with pain in his eyes as he took in all his injuries. "Oh, Juan… what happened to you? You poor thing…"

"_Papá!_" Mexico sobbed as Spain wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "_Papá_, I'm so sorry… I shouldn't've run away… _Papá_…"

Spain embraced him. "I finally found you, _Juanito_. Do you know how worried I've been?"

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

"No." He nuzzled Mexico's forehead. "I'm the one who should apologize, for saying such harsh things to you. You're not second-rate, _Juanito_. You never were and you never will be. It's just that, well… I love the two of you differently, all right? It would be wrong to make a comparison. I'm sorry if I made you feel unwanted before, I—I realize what I said sounded a lot meaner than I'd meant it to be. Sorry..."

Mexico sniffled as he buried his face in Spain's chest. "_Papá, te quiero_."

Spain stroked his hair lovingly, smiling wanly. "I love you too, _mi Juanito_. Let's go home; I bet Lovi and Huayna are worried sick about us by now."

"Mm." Mexico paused, then looked up at him. "Huayna?"

Spain noticed his dislocated arm. "Yeah," he said as he carefully popped the bone back into its socket, "he came to look for you after you ditched him at the airport. But anyways," he turned to the street as Mexico rolled his shoulder experimentally, "we should head back and get you cleaned up before those wounds get infected. And then you can tell me what happened." He started walking out of the alley.

"W-wait!" Mexico grabbed his arm. "You can't!" While Spain looked at him questioningly, he closed his right eye and slowly prodded the contact back over his cornea. Blinking a few times to clear his vision, he said, "They're looking for me. If they see us together they'll be after you too! S-so please go b-back by yours-s-self… I'll make it back, I promise."

Spain shook his head. "I'm not leaving you, Juan. It's too dangerous." He peered out warily. "Can you run?"

Mexico nodded.

"Good. Stay close behind me. Now let's—"

It was right then that one of the gang members poked his head into their hiding place and spotted Juan. "Hey boss!" he shouted into his cell phone. "I found him, he's over at—"

Spain quickly dispatched him with a blow to the neck. The phone clattered to the ground. Spain motioned for Mexico to run. Whether the phone had died or not didn't matter. The boss would be alerted by the sudden lack of response from his henchman and rush to the scene. They had to get out of there, and fast.

They'd crossed the first street when shouts erupted from behind them. Mexico turned around. Crap, they'd seen him! He called out to Spain, who slowed enough for them to hold hands and plunged into a crowd of shoppers. Mexico could only hold his breath and stumble after the Spaniard as the latter dragged him through the sea of people like a piece of seaweed ensnared on a boat propeller. Their grip broke once, but Spain quickly took Mexico's hand again and pulled him to safety before he could get swept away. They had ended up on the edge of the downtown area. "Do you think we lost them?" Spain panted.

"I-I think we should keep moving," said Mexico. "_Papá_, are you okay? You look really tired." Spain's face was flushed and covered with sweat, and he was breathing hard. Harder than he should be.

"Yes, I'm fine, thanks for asking. Let's hurry. You go ahead of me." He gently pushed the Hispanic in front of him. "We'll take a long way home just in case. Turn right when we reach the park."

They were crossing the road when a jolt went through Mexico's leg and he fell. Spain, swearing under his breath, picked him up and carried him onto the sidewalk. He dropped the boy with a grunt and collapsed onto his hands and knees, gasping for air. "_Papá?_" Spain dry heaved once, then grimaced as grey-green bile trickled out of his mouth. The acrid taste burned itself into every crevice of his mouth, making him cough and gag even more. Mexico thumped his back until the retching finally receded. "_Papá_, I think we should stop for a while," he said.

Spain nodded as he staggered to his feet. "We'll sit down at the park… Come on, we're… almost there…"

He hadn't taken more than a few steps when he suddenly stopped and bent over. Mexico looked at him worriedly. Spain considered the situation for a moment, a troubled look on his face. Then he looked up at Mexico. "Juan, I'm really sorry, could you carry me the rest of the way?" he asked, his eyes narrowed in discomfort.

Mexico immediately nodded. "What's wrong?"

"My stomach hurts…"

* * *

Of course. He had completely forgotten about it.

Mexico could've kicked himself, he was so angry! He should've remembered his _Papá_ was pregnant, damn it! He glanced at Spain, lying on the park bench with his head in Mexico's lap, taking slow, shallow breaths, his brow furrowed in pain. Every few minutes he would wince and clutch his stomach as a wave of pain washed over him. Mexico had wrapped his jacket around the Spaniard's belly to keep it warm, but it didn't seem to help; the pains were still coming, and they were getting worse. He'd wanted to massage him to help alleviate the aching, but Spain had insisted that it would only make things worse, so he'd left the man to handle the pain by himself. Spain didn't look like he was coping very well; beads of sweat were forming on his forehead and soft whimpers punctuated his breathing when the worst of it came. He was in dire need of medical attention.

And yet, here they were, huddled under the paltry yellow light of a filthy old lamp, Mexico shivering in his T-shirt and Spain holding his stomach protectively. Neither of them had any means of contacting someone else; Spain had left his cell phone at home, and Mexico's only worked in North America. They didn't even have enough in their pockets to use a pay phone. Mexico hastily wiped away Spain's sweat before it started evaporating. He didn't want him to catch a cold on top of his already grave miseries. The Spaniard was deliriously mumbling words of encouragement and rubbing his stomach, beseeching the unborn baby to do its best. Already his anxiety had led him to gnaw his nails into ragged stubs and pull on his hair until the brown strands came out one by one. On occasion he would smile up at Mexico and reassure him that it wasn't his fault, everything was going to be fine, Huayna's scary Inca intuition would eventually lead him to them, Romano knew the park was one of his favorite haunts, sooner or later someone would come by and see them, turtles loved him, it would all eventually work out and they could go home happily, the three of them. Spain and Mexico _and_ the little _bebé_ inside him, yes…

The man was slowly losing it.

Mexico swallowed. There was a lump in his throat and his eyes were brimming with tears again. Damn it, this _was_ his fault. All his fault. If he hadn't run away, Spain wouldn't've been forced to come after him and risk his health getting him out of trouble. He was so conceited, he hadn't even considered the consequences that would be faced by his father. Or his sibling-to-be.

Spain groaned and rolled onto his side so he could curl up. His hand crept over to Mexico's and squeezed it lightly. Mexico returned the gesture. Usually he relied on Spain for support, but today he had to stand up and protect his _Papá_. Mexico stroked the Spaniard's hand fretfully.

"_Dios_," he prayed, "please let my little brother, or sister, live…"

* * *

**Cliffhangers are fun~~~**

**Not for you guys, maybe, but they sure are fun to write. R&R :3  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**Ugh, sorry this took so long. I've been busy with school crap and whatnot. By the way, our physics class won the 33rd annual UBC Physics Olympics! (Serves those suckers right for not knowing how to spell our school's name. Three times.) It was the first time our school has won, and most epically, everyone in our class participated! Each team has up to 10 members... Yeah. We have a small class.  
**

**So I just narrowed my identity down to 10 people, didn't I...**

**And of the ten people, only two watch Hetalia...**

**And of those two, only one is a rabid enough fan to write fics...**

**Oh crap.**

**W-well, anyw-w-way, on with th-the chapter! *forced smile*  
**

* * *

Romano went to the kitchen to scrounge for food. He knew it wasn't good to eat while his tooth was still loose, but damn it, he was starving to death and anyway as long as he didn't have to chew it would be fine. And the bleeding had finally stopped, thank goodness. He heard Peru's soft footfalls behind him and gestured for him to sit at the table. The boy complied without a sound. Romano found himself marveling at his soft-spoken temperament. Somehow, Peru seemed like the kind of little brother everyone wished they had. Belgium wanted him. The potato bastard wanted him. Heck, even Romano himself wanted him, instead of that annoying Veneziano. Everyone wanted him except Chile, which Romano found a bit of a mystery. Didn't the Andean nation know how lucky he was to have such a well-behaved sibling?

He snuck a glance at Peru as he picked up a baguette. The kid was frowning, deep in thought.

"Señor Romano," he said slowly, "how exactly does a man become pregnant?"

Romano gaped. _Whut._

The baguette slipped out of his grasp and fell onto the kitchen counter with a soft thump. "Uh… w-well…" Romano quickly turned away so Peru couldn't see how red his face had become. His hands shook as he broke the bread in half. "Y—you'll f-find out when you're o-older…"

Damn it, way to sneak up on a guy like that! Apparently Peru was a firm believer of Fridge Logic. **(A/N: see endnotes)**

"Oh. Okay." Romano thought he heard disappointment in his voice. Then, trying to change the subject, "Señor Romano, let's phone Spain."

"All right." Phew, he was glad that was over. Romano dialed Spain's cell phone. A moment later the closet began to ring.

The two exchanged looks. "It's getting late, Señor Romano," said Peru.

Romano nodded, knowing exactly what he was implying. "It is. We should go look for him."

* * *

"Nnh… Juan…"

Mexico felt a pair of hands on his face. He looked down, inwardly cringing at their iciness. Spain was smiling weakly at him. His eyes, normally bright green and brimming with cheer, were dull from pain and heavy with resignation. The Spaniard had given up on worrying a long time ago; now, instead of fidgeting fretfully, he was simply lying there as though dead. Somehow Mexico found this even more nerve-wracking than watching him shuffling around. Giving up was bad. It meant surrender. Defeat.

Loss.

"J-Juan," he said, caressing Mexico's cheek, "please stop blaming yourself… ugh… wh-whatever comes next will just happen l-like it was meant to… We sh-shouldn't think too hard about it… no one is at fault, okay? So… ch-cheer up a little…"

Though the corners of his lips moved up, his eyes remained vacant. Mexico realized that, despite trying to be optimistic, Spain himself was in a rather poor state of mind. He could only imagine the sort of anguish the man was going through, to receive a child and risk losing it the very next day. Grasping Spain's hands, he pressed them to his neck. They were frightfully cold. An ominous wind was blowing in, raising goosebumps on Mexico's skin. He sneezed. Of all the times for the weather to make a turn for the worse…

Spain looked at him worriedly. "Are you cold, Juan? Do you want your jacket back?"

Mexico frantically shook his head. "You need to keep warm more than I do." Then he added, as an afterthought, "Please hold on to it."

Spain chuckled, glancing down; by "it" Juan hadn't meant the cardigan wrapped around his middle. He was certain his little one was still fighting to stay alive—it was that tenacious _Lovinito_'s child, after all. He freed a hand from Mexico's grip and rested it on his belly.

"I'll try."

It was then that Mexico heard a faint voice calling out in the distance. "_Papá_, d-do you hear that?" he said, but Spain wasn't paying attention. The voice called again. Suddenly he was on full alert, extending himself as tall as he could go, ears perked, glancing around apprehensively. Who knew what kind of crazy creeper was out here at this hour, pick-pocketing and mugging innocent passers-by? He heard twigs snapping behind him and whirled around, his body tense, reaching for something, anything, that he could use for defense. His hand closed around the Swiss army knife in his pocket. When a small figure emerged from the darkness, however, all the tension went out of him. "H-Huayna," he said feebly as he collapsed into putty with a sigh.

His cousin raised a hand in greeting. "Sorry I'm late."

* * *

When Peru had suggested they split up to cover more ground, Romano had adamantly protested. "It's not safe for you to go alone," he argued. "Besides, what if you get lost?"

"I'll borrow Spain's cell phone, so we can keep in contact," the Peruvian replied. "As for safety, well, I can at least defend myself. We shouldn't worry about me; let's focus on Spain and Juan instead."

Romano was still against the idea, but eventually he relented. And so, they'd split up at Spain's house, Romano searching in the east, while Peru headed west. Perhaps the boy was right after all, he reflected when his phone rang ten minutes later and Peru reported his findings. "Señor Romano, I'm with them right now. Where are you?"

"About a five-minute walk from the house," he replied.

"Eh, I think you'd better get the car."

Romano stopped dead in his tracks. "Wh-what? Why?"

"You'll see. Just—hurry. We're at—ah, what's this place… the park. Yes, that's it. Please get here as soon as you can. I'm phoning the doctor and then I'll take him to the parking lot to meet you. See you then." There was a click as the call disconnected.

Romano slowly lowered the phone. His hands were shaking as he tucked it back into his pocket. Why would the doctor be needed? "Damn it, Antonio!" he muttered as he raced down the street. "What the hell have you been doing to yourself? Shit, shit, this can't be happening…!"

* * *

It was fortunate Dr. Lorca lived right upstairs of his clinic. In the time it took Romano to drive there, he'd managed to make preparations for them. The doctor was still in his flannel pajamas and fluffy green bathrobe when he answered the door. "Good grief, Señor Carriedo," he chastised, "it's only the second day and you've already run yourself into this much trouble? How will you survive the remaining thirty weeks?" He rounded on Mexico, who squealed and tried to hide behind Peru. "And you! Out picking fights again, I see! Whatever am I supposed to do with you, Juan Cortés Carriedo?" Mexico flinched at the use of his full name. "Well," he looked at Spain with concern, "I'll take care of your father first, if you don't mind. Follow me, Señor Carriedo, Señor Vargas." Mexico could only nod meekly as Dr. Lorca led Spain and Romano away.

In the examining room, Dr. Lorca instructed Spain to take off his pants and lie down on the cot. "Now, tell me again what happened," he said.

"I-I went to look for Juan," Spain began. "He'd gotten into some kind of trouble, so we had to get away quickly. We were running and running and that was when it started hurting." Romano took the seat beside him, clutching his hand worriedly.

"Is the pain centered around here?" Dr. Lorca asked, prodding him a few inches below his navel. Spain nodded. "On a scale of one to ten, with one being the mildest and ten being the worst, how bad would you say it is?"

"Ah, well, um… I guess… maybe a seven?"

"Has anything come out of you? Blood, tissue, pus, etcetera?"

Spain shook his head.

"All right." Dr. Lorca slipped on a pair of gloves. "Things look promising so far. It's probably just that the stress from running has induced uterine contractions. If that's the case then the contractions will have caused the birth canal opened up. I'm going to check for cervical dilation…"

Spain squirmed. Oh gods, he hated it when doctors stuck their hands up weird places that hurt or otherwise felt funny or—

Mexico looked up from the bathroom sink as a sharp squeal erupted from the examining room. He blinked, then turned back to washing his face. He didn't really want to know what inappropriate things were going on in there…

Dr. Lorca drew back and carefully peeled the gloves off. He shot a reassuring glance at the Spaniard, who was quivering and clutching Romano's arm so tightly his knuckles had gone white. "Señor Romano, I hope you'll be all right," he said. "Your cervix is closed, which is a good sign. But I need to check on the fetus next, and to do that I, well, I have to perform an ultrasound scan… a, um, _vaginal_ ultrasound."

Spain groaned. Today might as well be National Stick-Things-Up-a-Hole-He-Never-Knew-He-Had Day.

He found, however, that it was easy to distract himself with the grainy images the machine projected, rather than getting unnerved by the cold plastic probe the doctor had inserted between his legs. Beside him, Romano was watching the process anxiously, his hands clasped tightly with Spain's, eyes glued to the screen, muttering a prayer as Dr. Lorca adjusted the probe and studied the sonogram intently. Finally, he sat back with a smile. "There. See it?"

Spain and Romano perked up immediately. On the screen, towards one side, was a small flurry of movement. Something round was beating rhythmically. Romano sucked in his breath. "Is that…?"

"Yes. It's a heartbeat," said Dr. Lorca. "From the looks of things, the fetus is healthy. With some extra care, it will likely continue growth normally. However, I'd like to keep Señor Carriedo overnight to monitor his condition." He dropped his professional tone and continued more warmly, "The clinic isn't designed to accommodate inpatients, but I suppose I could lend you the guest bedroom upstairs." He removed the probe and stood up. "Does it still hurt?"

"Less than before," Spain replied.

"See, it does react to stress. Now, I don't want you going out there running entire marathons or working out intensely, do you hear me? I know you nations have resilient bodies, but please don't forget that's a life in there you risk ruining if you're too reckless." Dr. Lorca turned to Romano. "Señor Vargas, please bring Señor Carriedo a change of clothes and all his necessary toiletries. I'd also like you to pick up some medicine for him from the hospital. I shall phone them right now and give them the prescription." He closed the door quietly behind him.

Spain let out a sigh. "Thank goodness…" he muttered. "Lovi, I'm so relieved! The baby is—ah!"

He gasped when Romano whirled around and slapped him. Clutching his reddening cheek, he stared at the Italian in shock. "L-Lovi, wha—"

"You bastard," Romano said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper, "how could you do this? Putting yourself and the baby in danger like that…"

"B-but Lovi, I—no, no! Don't cry! I'm almost fine now, see? So please don't—unh…" He winced as the pain flared up again.

"You're not fine! How dare you say you're fine! Fucking asshole, do you have any idea how worried I was? Do you even care how worried I am now? What were you thinking? One man, no cell phone, hopelessly sick, wandering around in the middle of the night looking for some dumb kid who could've run off _anywhere!_ Do you want me to worry myself to death? Is that it?" Romano sniffled. "Bastard… selfish bastard… What if the baby had died? What if you'd died? Wh-why do you put yourself at risk? Don't you care who else gets hurt when you do?"

"Lovi…" Spain reached for his hand. Romano yanked it away. Spain looked at him forlornly. "Lovino, please don't be angry at me… I went to find Juan because it was my fault he ran off. If you were in the same situation, I'd have done the same. Admittedly, I was kind of stupid in not bringing my phone and in going alone. It probably could've gone better. So, I'm sorry for that. But what's done is done, and things have turned out fine, so let's not focus too much on the past, all right?" Romano glared at him. "You've seen Huayna, right? Do you know why he looks so young? It's because he's still hung up on the past. He refuses to forgive Chile for the War of the Pacific. Or Ecuador for the territorial dispute." He sighed. "Or me, for those tyrannical colonial days. So, I guess the moral of the story is that you should live in the present, and be more optimistic, or else you'll be like Peter Pan~! Then you'll fall in love with a girl called Wendy, and never be able to do her because you're underage!" He smiled innocently.

Romano grimaced. "You make no sense, jackass." But his expression softened, and he inched his hand closer to Spain's. "F-fine, I forgive you. But only this once."

Spain smiled. "Once will be enough."

Romano leaned in and kissed him lightly. "Promise me you won't do it again."

"Of course."

He couldn't help but smile a little as he wiped his eyes. "Bastard, you better mean it."

* * *

**A/N: Fridge Logic: when something sails right over your head the first time, and you don't even notice it, and hours later when you're opening the fridge to look for munchies it snaps back like a rubber band and hits you in the face. Go TV Trope it:** http: / / tvtropes. org /pmwiki/ pmwiki. php/ Main/ FridgeLogic

**Don't forget to take the spaces out.**

**I think we IB kids are a little jealous of Spain right now. He said seven! Seven! Nowadays, with the exams coming up in May, anything containing or referring to the number 7 seems to set us off like fireworks. I mean, the other day I was so ecstatic because I was playing Minesweeper and got a number 7 during the game... and then I took a screenshot and saved it. I was playing go another day and won by 7 points... I took a screenshot of that too. Clearly, we have a case of 7-mania going on here x.x**

**But anyway, that's enough rambling for one chapter. Thanks for reading! Happy White Day! R&R~**

**...the grossest thing just came to my mind when I said White Day. =A=  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**I discovered the Hetaloid. Was inspired to make one myself. But then I found out it's illegal according to the UTAU Rule Book. Unless Inoue Go gives me permission to do so, which I highly doubt he will. Goodbye Spainloid T_T**

**Oh and because I was so excited about the Hetaloids, this chapter might be kinda...compromised. Sorry about that and I promise to make the next one better!  
**

* * *

It didn't surprise the other countries one bit when Romano and Mexico took seats as far away as possible from each other at the world summit. It still didn't surprise them to see Mexico with a gash on his forehead and Romano making strange whistling sounds every time he tried to use the S sound. Clearly they'd had an… encounter before the meeting. It did strike them as odd, however, that all aggression seemed to have ended the moment they stepped into the meeting room. Romano and Mexico merely sat there quietly and avoided each other's eyes.

They turned to Spain for answers, and that was when the second surprise hit them; the host country's seat was empty.

"Ve, where's Spain-niichan?" Italy asked.

Mexico gasped and dropped his documents. Romano leaned back in his chair with a sigh. The other countries exchanged glances.

Finally, Romano spoke. "Spain is… not feeling well. Yeah." He folded his arms and frowned, but his mean look wasn't working, questions were still being asked, a restless murmur had risen and it was getting more and more annoying as he watched those damn nations whisper among each other and sending him weird looks. Something must've happened between Spain and the Italian. A dispute? A full-out battle? Some ugly accident while doing kinky things at night? Everyone turned to Romano for answers. But Romano wasn't giving any. Unfortunately for him, his blabbermouth of a younger brother was about to…

"Ve," Italy mused, "I hope Spain-niichan's okay, I mean, he _is_ pregnant…"

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Spain was _what?_

Mexico slumped against the table and clasped his hands over his face. Peru, unfazed by the whole thing, continued organizing his papers, not even sparing a single glance at the nations who were now staring at Romano in wide-eyed shock.

Romano blinked. Had Veneziano just—he _had!_ _Dio!_ He facepalmed as he realized the others hadn't known about it until Italy blurted it out just now. Shit, he could've stopped them from finding out! "Veneziano, we'll talk later," he growled through gritted teeth. Damn it, damn it, damn it! If only he could go back to just a few moments before and shut his brother's trap before those horrible words leaked out! He shuffled uncomfortably under the piercing gaze of two hundred other nations. He felt like a deer caught in headlights—no, that was an understatement. He felt like a deer caught in industrial-strength lasers on full blast. In fact, he could almost smell his flesh sizzling. Trying to act calm and dignified, he cleared his throat and sat up straight. "Wh-wh-what the hell a-are y-y-you look-k-king at?" he stammered.

_Damn it! _His voice had just given everything away!

Finally, England spoke. "Er, c-congratulations?"

This was apparently the signal for several other countries to mumble their felicitations. France beamed and flashed him a thumbs-up. Romano replied with the middle finger. Germany looked like he'd been hit by one of his own Five-Nines, sitting there muttering shakily as though in a trance. There was a soft thud as Bolivia fainted. The only ones who weren't smiling meaningfully or staring at him shell-shocked were Mexico and Peru, and they didn't count because they'd found out beforehand. Romano fiddled nervously with his tie. He was feeling a bit like a zoo animal. An ugly one that happened to be taking a crap in front of the stunned spectators, judging by the looks on their faces. Great; why couldn't he have been a koala, or a bunny? Did they even have bunnies at the zoo?

"Hahahaha!" Portugal pounded the table in mirth. "The little bugger finally got what was coming to him! Well done, kiddo!"

Romano blushed and sank lower in his seat, until only the top of his head was visible. Beside him, Austria patted his shoulder sympathetically.

"U-um, anyways," said Germany, who'd regained some of his composure, "let's s-start the meeting…"

"Cake!" cried America, suddenly standing up. "We must celebrate this momentous occasion with cake! A great big green one with the Spanish flag painted on it in icing! Hahahahahaha!" He clapped his hands like a happy seal.

Japan looked like he was about to throw up. The radiation leak at his place was bad enough as it was; he didn't need the American's fluorescent confections to add to it. "A-America-san, please don't—"

Romano finally snapped. "Screw you all!" he screamed, jumping out of his chair. "Why can't you just leave me alone?" And he spun on his heel and stormed out of the conference room.

The countries looked at one another guiltily. Perhaps they'd pushed him a little too far.

America's face fell. "No cake…?"

* * *

Cake, Romano decided as he splashed water on his face to clear his mind, was for the weak.

Or, in his case, it was what he would use to conceal the bomb he would mail to Veneziano later. And, knowing his idiot brother, that clueless ditz would probably share it with the potato bastard—a beautiful double whammy, in Romano's opinion. Killing two birds with one stone—or rather, two useless nuisances with one bomb. He reminded himself to procure some C4 over the weekend.

Hmm. Guncotton would be better—they could throw it under the faucet and it would still keep burning.

He was still thinking murderous thoughts when the bathroom door opened slightly and Italy poked his head in. Ah. Speak of the devil. Romano shot him a murderous glare as the latter went up to him, a look of confusion and _utter stupidity_ on his _stupid, ugly_ face. "Ve, Nii-chan, are you okay?" he said.

Romano chuckled darkly. "Well," he said, and Italy shuddered at his forced angry smile, "I _was_… until YOU opened that big mouth of yours!" He slammed his fist against the sink. Italy flinched. "Damn it! You just _had_ to tell them, huh?"

"N-N-Nii-chan! I'm sorry! I-I thought they already knew…" Italy backed against the wall, trembling. "P-please don't hurt me! I'll do anything, I swear! J-just… spare me…"

"Like hell I will! I'll shove your tie down your throat 'til it comes out your ass!" Romano grabbed him by the collar. Italy shrieked and started burbling hysterically. Suddenly Germany arrived on the scene and pulled them apart.

"I knew it," he muttered, as Italy cowered behind him, "letting Feli go by himself was like sending the sheep after the lion."

"B-bastard, get your filthy wurst-hands off him! _You're_ the lion!"

"Romano! Just calm down! _Gott_, what's gotten into you?"

"Veeeeeeee!"

"Sh-shut up! Both of you—" Suddenly Romano's cell phone rang. "What do you want?" he snapped.

"Oh, Lovi!" said Spain. "You sound so angry! Am I calling at a bad time?"

"Uh—! It's… it's none of your business!" Romano's breath hitched in his throat. "B-but anyways, how are you feeling? Any better? Y-you're okay now, right?"

"Ve, it's Spain-niichan! Nii-chan, Nii-chan, lemme talk to him!" said Italy, stretching his arms out. Romano dodged out of the way and listened anxiously as Spain replied:

"Of course I'm not feeling better! I have this awful headache and I keep feeling really tired and my stomach is throwing temper tantrums, but Dr. Lorca says it's a good sign because my pregnancy symptoms are coming back! So the baby's okay! Isn't that great? Oh, by the way, can you get me some cheesecake on your way here later?"

Romano turned his back on Germany and Italy so they couldn't see him smiling. "That's—good," he said, as calmly as possible. "Um, I'll drop by the store when—DAMN IT VENEZIANO GET OFF ME!" Italy had jumped him from behind in his attempt to get at the phone. Thrown off-balance, Romano stumbled forward, crashing into the wall.

"Lovi! What's going on! Are you okay?"

"Ve! Ve! Spain-niichan!" cried Italy, seizing the phone. "Ve~~~! How are you?"

Romano swore and shoved Italy. The latter squealed as he fell backwards. The phone slipped from his grasp and flew towards Germany, who tried to catch it but missed. It bounced off his wrist and landed in the toilet with a plop.

"Goddammit!" Romano snarled, throttling Italy. "This is all your fault!"

"Veeeee!" Italy quickly scrambled away from him, but tripped over his shoelaces.

Germany bent over the toilet, his hand hovering tentatively over the water, wondering if he should reach in and retrieve it. He was just about to when Italy slammed into him and knocked him down. As he fell, Germany's chin hit the flush button. Romano cried out in indignation as he watched his cell phone disappear in a swirl of water.

There was a long silence. Italy looked at Romano apologetically. Germany slowly picked himself up and rubbed his bruised chin. Romano stood there for a full minute before he finally spoke.

"That was… almost too convenient… somehow…"

"It was!" said Italy, suddenly forgetting his remorse. "I wonder if we've finally broken the fourth wall, ve!"

Ire suddenly flared up in Romano's chest. He seized Italy's throat and began strangling him. "Fuck you! Damn klutz! You'd better get me a replacement, or I'll—"

That was when Italy's cell phone went off.

There was another pause as the three assessed the situation. "Well," said Romano through gritted teeth, as the ring sounded a third time, "why don't you pick up?"

Italy fearfully complied. "_P-p-pront-t-to…_"

Romano raised an eyebrow as his brother's eyes widened. "Oh, he's right here actually," Italy said, glancing at him. "Nii-chan, it's for you." He held out the phone.

Romano took it. "Who is this?"

His blood ran cold when he heard the voice on the other end: "Lovino Vargas! What is the meaning of this blasphemy?"

Almost instinctively he snapped the phone closed. "Oh crap!" he squeaked, his hands trembling. It was Vatican City. And it sounded like he'd heard the news too.

* * *

**Oh dear, poor Romano...**

**Review! :D  
**

**Still haven't gotten over Spainloid. You know, just for the sake of it, I might try... It's not like I'm the only one who'll have broken the rules anyway. Youtube "aph double lariat mmd hetaloid", click on the first one, and you'll see what I mean.  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry it's late! I had homework... T_T But to compensate (briefly, at least), let's consider the following:**

**Gintama Chapter 33: Be Careful of Belt Conveyers  
Gintama Chapter 51: Life Moves like a Conveyor Belt**

**No? Um, I could mention that "I found the Turkey but it's covered in a layer of Greece" thing on my profile... Or a physics joke? Still no? Oh gosh, I'm scared. x.x**

**Well, in any case, there's still the chapter below, which you can enjoy... I hope.  
**

**And if you thought this coming late was bad enough, just wait until you get to the end. Oh ho ho.  
**

* * *

Italy and Romano exchanged looks. Slowly Romano held out the phone. Italy took it back. "Holy shit," Romano breathed. "I'm screwed, aren't I?"

"Ve… Maybe he just wants to say congratulations!" Italy suggested. Romano facepalmed. "Well, I'm sure it can't hurt just to _talk_ to him…"

"Ha! Not on your life! _Dio mio…_" Romano slumped against the wall. "How long is he gonna yell at me this time…"

He turned around. Italy was punching buttons on his cell phone. "Hey! Listen when I'm talking to you!"

* * *

Spain blinked as the dial tone droned on. What on earth had just happened? There'd been a lot of yelling and scuffling, and then a huge splash and a burst of static… He gasped. Of course! Russia must've gone into Kol Mode and blown up the restrooms! He frantically dialed Romano's number again but a recording told him in an annoying voice that it wasn't available. (Dang, he had no idea that lady sounded so bitchy when the phone company hired her.) He tried again. Bitchy voice. And again. Bitchy voice. He hung up, waited a few minutes, and tried one last time. Bitchy voice again (arrrrrgh!). groaning in frustration, he replaced the receiver on its cradle. That Soviet bastard was in for it now…

He'd just devised a battle plan against said Soviet bastard when his cell phone rang. Spain turned his head. It was all the way on the other side of the room, in the pocket of his coat. Sprawled in a crumpled heap on the chair. A good two metres away from the bed. Which he didn't want to leave.

"_Dios_, no, don't do this to me," he whimpered as the sound of Romano's "I want breakfast!" ten-minute challenge filled the air. He wouldn't get up! He _couldn't_ get up! But Chibi Romano's voice persisted, and the more he ignored it the more ridiculous it was starting to sound…

"_I saw a midget! I saw a midget!"_

He ducked under the covers and pretended to be deaf.

But wait—what if it was Lovi?

Spain glanced resignedly at the chair. It had to be done. With a groan, he sat up and threw aside the sheets. Instantly the room started spinning and swaying beneath his feet. He slowly groped his way over, clumsily fished the phone out of his pocket, and crawled back into bed, holding back his urge to throw up. Then, putting on a cheerful front: "Lovi~~~~"

"Ve! Spain-niichan! How are you doing? Do your nipples feel weird? What kinds of food have you been craving? Is your tummy getting big yet? Ve, ve, can I touch it? Ve~~~~—"

Before Spain had a chance to reply, Italy was pushed aside (very roughly, too, from the sound of it) and he heard Romano rebuking his brother. "Damn it, Veneziano, why'd you have to call him again?"

"Lovi! You're okay!" he said. "Thank goodness!"

"Of course I'm okay. Veneziano flushed my cell phone down the toilet. A-anyway, I should p-probably go…"

"He did? How'd he manage to do that?" Spain giggled in relief. So it wasn't some Russian terrorist attack then, though that might've been kind of fun to clean up afterwards. (Especially when it came to confronting the one who started the mess.) His brow furrowed. "Lovi, what's wrong? You sound really upset."

"Of course I'm upset, dumbass! I-I just lost my phone!"

"No, I mean that other kind of upset. Like… like you got into trouble and you're trying to hide it." He smirked at the stunned silence that followed. "So? What is it? It's okay, you can tell me, you know."

"Wh—wh—wh—" Spain could almost hear Romano's face turning red, blood threatening to explode from his face like steam from a kettle. "Wh-what the heck are you yammering about? I most certainly am _not_ hiding anything! A-and you'd better not ask again, or—or I'll make Veneziano ask you more embarrassing questions!" The Italian huffed angrily. "So there!"

"But Lovi, it's not healthy to keep everything bottled up inside… you'll get hemorrhoids…"

"Like hell I will! I'm not telling you, and that's that!"

"Aww, fine… But if you ever _do_ have a problem—not that you do—I'm just saying—if that were to happen, just know that I'll always be there for y—eek!" Spain gasped.

"Spain? What happened?" cried Romano.

"Hahahahahahahaha! I-it's nothing! Um, I've g-got to hang up now, t-talk to you later!" There was a click as Spain disconnected.

Romano handed the phone back to Italy. "Bastard," he muttered. "He lectures me on hiding my problems, and then he goes and keeps something from me as well…"

"Ve, but I didn't get to ask him anything!" Italy whined. "Nii-chan, can I call him again?"

"Absolutely not! Don't bother him with your retarded questions!"

"But—"

"No! Go back to the meeting!"

"Ve..."

* * *

Vatican City stared at the receiver in disbelief. Had Lovino just…? He had! He'd gone and hung up on the one who was just trying to help him back on the right path! (Not that Lovino had ever _been_ on the right path…) He paced around in the room. What was he to do? He had to talk to Lovino somehow or other.

This called for drastic measures.

Vatican City grabbed his coat. "I'm going to visit a friend, Benny," he said. "I might be back late."

"All right," said the Pope. "And please, my name is not Benny."

* * *

Spain's eyes darted from Dr. Lorca to the strange person standing beside him, and back again. She was a young woman, about medium height, with grey eyes and reddish blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. Like Dr. Lorca, she was clad in a white doctor's coat. A bag was slung over her shoulder—Spain heard something inside rattle when she shifted her weight. Goodness knew what strange medical contraptions she was keeping in there. But that wasn't what unnerved him. No, what really put him on edge was that, despite not looking a single bit like her, this doctor kept reminding him of his _hermana._ It might've been the way she walked, or maybe just her general impression, but in any case all Spain could feel were Portugal-vibes and he was _terrified._

Darn it, he should've pretended to be asleep when they came in here!

"Señor Carriedo, this is my colleague, Dr. Lucia Garcia Villanueva," Dr. Lorca explained. "She's an obstetrician from the other side of town. I'll be consulting with her throughout your pregnancy."

Dr. Villa-what's-her-name (Spain was too preoccupied with her uncanny likeness to Portugal) smiled. "Hello, Señor Carriedo."

Spain tried not to let any of his unease show on his face. That would be kind of rude. "H-hi," he replied. Well, consulting was fine. As long as she didn't come anywhere near him.

"Dr. Villanueva will give you a checkup before you go home today," Dr. Lorca continued. Spain thought his heart stopped for a moment.

_What? Nooooo! She's scary! Don't do this to meeeeeee!_ _Oh god, the only thing worse than this would be if Hermana _herself_ did it!_

Dr. Villanueva looked at him worriedly as he started trembling. "Señor Carriedo, are you all right?"

"Ahaha, ha… Y-yes, I'm f-f-fine!" He forced a smile.

"Well, okay…" She opened her bag and pulled out a pair of gloves. "We'll start with the pelvic exam, then~"

Spain's smile faded. Now he wasn't fine.

* * *

"I'm so glad you came to save me, Lovi~~~" Spain sniffled as Romano carried him upstairs. "Did you see how scary she was? Somehow she keeps making me think of _Hermana!_ I've never been happier to come home!" He threw his arms around Romano's neck in an attempted hug.

"Ow! Don't move like that all of a sudden, you'll throw me off balance—aaaah!" He flinched as Spain lifted himself and kissed him on the cheek. "Get—down! Sheesh! Don't do that!" He laid him gently on his bed. "I didn't see any resemblance. Maybe they use the same shampoo or something."

Spain's mouth fell open. "Oh! That could be it! It certainly explains why she's less scary at a distance…"

"No, I'm pretty sure that's just an ordinary response," Romano replied, pulling the covers over him. "Don't get up, okay?"

"Okay~ But first…" Spain reached his arms out. Romano groaned, then grudgingly leaned in and hugged him. "And now that I've told you what's bothering me," he whispered in the Italian's ear, "will you tell me what's bugging you?"

Romano stiffened. "I told you, there's nothing wrong. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to make dinner. Try not to hurt yourself." He tried to straighten up but Spain tightened his grip.

"But I want Lovi to stay here! It's so lonely being by myself! Pleeeeeeease?" He gave Romano a puppy-dog look. Romano sighed.

"Maybe afterwards. Aren't you hungry?"

Spain's eyes lit up. "Ooh! Yes! Paella?"

Romano smirked. Victory! "Then I'll be right back." Before Spain could change his mind, he stood up. "And remember, 'bed rest' means you're supposed to stay in bed. So you'd better be in this very spot when I come back, do you hear?" he said sternly.

Spain smiled innocently. "Yes, _Lovinito~_"

"Good." Romano went downstairs. Antonio seemed to be in an awfully good mood today. Maybe it was all that chocolate he pilfered from Dr. Lorca. But Romano didn't mind; it made him a lot easier to handle than the moping, puking mess he'd been at the clinic. Heck, he might even let the tomato bastard have the rest of those chocolates he'd confiscated, just to humor him.

He was just scooping the rice into a plate when the phone rang. Grumbling about telemarketers and the things he would do if he ever saw one in the street, he dropped the pan and went to answer it. "What?" he snapped.

"Ve, ve, Nii-chan! Help meeeeee! It's terrible! Vatican City's at the door! Ve, what do I do? I'm so scared!" He started crying. "Doitsu said just let him in, but he's got _that_ look on his face oh my gosh he's going to boss me around again, veeeeeeeeee! Save meeeeeee!"

"Geez, Veneziano! Calm down!" Then it hit him. "Wait, _who?_"

"V-V-Vatican C-City…"

Romano's heart skipped a beat. Oh hell! That old bozo was _determined_ to hunt him down, wasn't he! "U-u-um," he stammered. _Run! _his instincts told him._ Corri! Vamos! Échappe! __走る__!_ Meanwhile, Italy was still sniffling and whimpering. Romano gritted his teeth. No, there was enough running. That senile old fool would find him sooner or later, anyways. "Hang on, Feli," he said, and Italy stopped hiccoughing at the use of his human name. "Go and make some tea or coffee or something. And let that moron in.

"I'm heading over."

* * *

**If you haven't checked out the Romano Wants Breakfast 10-minute challenge on Youtube, go see it! :D**

**By the way, Spainloid died. So I tried to make a replacement with my own voice. It sounded like Russia instead, so now I refuse even to work on it. For a while, at least. Soviet invasion ftw D:  
**

**Tsk, this seemed more like a filler chapter. But that's precisely what it had to be, because...**

* * *

_**THIS FIC IS HEREBY ON HIATUS UNTIL JUNE. **_

**Yup. Sorry, guys. It's exam time for us (not so) hardworking IB students and I am going to PWN those STUPID MATH EXAMS and RUB MY 6/7 IN THE MATH TEACHER'S FACE. TAKE THAT, [insert teacher's name here]. So... yeah. Once again, my deepest apologies! x_x**

**See you all in June, hopefully. Thanks for reading. Bye for now! REVIEWWWWW :3  
**


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